


Everything's On Fire

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [384]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Fire, Gen, non-major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:12:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: anon on tumblr requested: Alan goes missing during a rescue and Scott finally finds him?





	

Every disaster had its own horrors.  Earthquakes shattered cities without warning, and tornadoes ripped families off the face of the earth.  Tsunami washed them away and landslides buried them alive.

But fire had to be one of the worst.

What had once been acres of scrubland and farmland was now nothing more than smouldering ashes.  The sky was orange, and everyone was sealed into their helmets, but the taste of smoke still somehow got in anyway.  The fire had moved fast, sweeping down the hillside in a matter of minutes, the heat of the fire changing the very nature of the air above it and ground below.

At a certain temperature, a fire became unstoppable, the air itself so hot that anything they might lay down to smother the flames evaporated before it made contact.  With enough air and fuel, a fire could become self-sustaining.

At that point, the only thing you could do was run.

The town wasn’t that big, not really, not by global standards.  But it was home for the people who had lived there, and when the warning came, some had tried to stay and fight, and some had picked up and fled.

All had died.

Fire was deceptive; it moved and circled back and could advance with a speed terrifying even for those familiar with its nature.

The convey of families had no chance by the time they decided to run for it.  They were barely recognizable as people now, their bodies scorched and charred and melted into their vehicles.

Scott had found the first of bodies who had tried to go on on foot; they’d made it about fifteen feet from the car before the fire consumed them.  One sneaker was only charred – the rest was gone.  

Scott told John he was going dark for five, and cut his comms.

When he stepped out a few minutes later from behind the bulk of an empty water truck, he automatically looked for his brothers.  Gordon was standing with a small knot of volunteers, and beyond him, he could see Virgil conferring with the area commander.

Scott looked again, but no sign of Alan.

“You looking for the nipper?”  Scott turned around to face the grizzled old volunteer.  Beneath his grey beard, his cheeks were smeared with soot, but his blue eyes were kind.  “He went round the back there, bout a minute ago.”

Muttering his thanks, Scott set off at a slow jog, eyes sweeping side to side, looking for the tell-tale splash of International Rescue blue.

The dam wasn’t even mud anymore; what the fire fighters hadn’t drawn off into their tanks, the fire itself had boiled away, leaving only hard-packed and cracked dirt, a dimple in the scorched landscape.

Alan was braced against the concrete block of the pump, his head hanging low between his arms.  Even with comms silent, Scott knew what that shake of Alan’s shoulders meant.

Scott moved to sit on the concrete pipe protruding from the block, putting himself in Alan’s line of sight, but letting Alan have his space.  After a moment’s thought, he cracked his helmet, coughing at the first ashy breath.  Even with the acrid taste, it still felt better to be breathing something other than clean, cool, recycled air.

Alan’s helmet lay on the dirt, and Scott rested his down next to it before sitting back, slowly stretching aching muscles.

Alan retched once more and spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove.  Scott watched, mesmerized by the sooty smear across pale skin.  “Sorry, I just…”

Scott waved him down, patting the warm concrete next to him.  “No apology needed. We’ve all been there.”

Alan sank down gracelessly next to Scott.  “I was handling it, but then they offered me some water, and I cracked my helmet and…”

“The smell,” Scott finished.  “We’ve all been there, Alan,” he repeated with emphasis.

Alan braced his elbow on his knees, buried his face in his hands.  “It reminded me of pork roast,” he confessed.  “It was a person, but I first thought of roast dinner.”

Scott gently laid his hand on Alan’s back, just below the nape of his neck.  “I thought I was handling it, my first really big fire,” he began softly. “Then dad and I went to this shareholder dinner, and they had a carvery station, you know…”

Even in pieces, Alan was too quick.  “They had roast meat,” he finished.

Scott nodded.  “Dad was in one bathroom stall and I was in the other, both of us puking our guts out.”  Despite the horror, then and now, Scott realized he was smiling.  “God knows what the shareholders thought.  Probably we had something bad for lunch.”  He shrugged at Alan’s frowned.  “This was before we were really public about what we were doing.  Hell, that was before we even knew what we were doing.”

Alan nodded.  “But then what did you do.”

Scott felt his smile fade.  “It was bushfire season.  We left the dinner, and on the way home, we routed to another fire.”  He licked too-dry lips – the air sucked the moisture out of everything.  “I’ve cried, after plenty of fires,” he admitted.  “But I never threw up again.”

“Good to know,” Alan tried to quip, falling flat.

Scott made a non-committal noise and continued to rub Alan’s back until, from their helmets at their feet, they heard John’s voice calling them back to the fight. 


End file.
